


Associations

by Tish



Category: House of Cards Trilogy (UK)
Genre: F/M, Fuck off Nazis, Fuck the BNP, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where is the line between a keen, academic interest and something darker? Some people find out too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Associations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ars_belli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ars_belli/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta, Ngoc for doing the English much gooder than this native-born Brit ever could.

Stamper pursed his lips as he mentally sorted out his list. He could judge which reaction Urquhart would have to the parliamentary antics. An arched eyebrow, a pointed glare, or a world-weary sigh that signalled the unfortunate gentleman would shortly be on the receiving end of a right royal bollocking, followed by some well-earned gardening leave.

For his part, sorting out the backbenchers was a picnic. Nothing that couldn't usually be nipped in the bud with a quiet word by the head prefect. Usually.

###

The town-house was blissfully quiet as she sat in Urquhart's study, nursing a drink. The soft tick of a clock was the only sound that broke the silence as she watched him read at his desk.

He looked up and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled at her. “I shall be with you momentarily, my dear. I know I said that fifteen minutes ago, but I shall.” 

His eyes gleamed with humour as she raised her glass to him. The low light played on the glass and reflected on her face as she slightly turned and rolled it around. Urquhart watched her for a moment, pen in hand, before returning to his notes. A soft, sibilant hiss of pen sweeping across paper as he wrote was like music to Mattie's ears. She watched his hands as he wrote. His left hand was almost palm down, long fingers stretched out along the side of the paper, his right gently grasped the fountain pen, fingers coiled slightly, the thumb almost caressing the cap's clip. She took a sip and examined the pattern cut into the glass, thinking of what else those elegant hands were capable of doing. 

Urquhart glanced up and saw Mattie's far-away look and wolfish smile, then checked the clock and replaced the pen's cap with a soft click. The sound drew Mattie back to the moment and she gazed up as Urquhart slowly stood and crossed the room to her. As he reached her armchair, he tenderly slipped his fingers through her hair.

“Such an ungracious host, leaving you to your own devices for so long.” Urquhart's voice was full of mocking self-recrimination as he gazed down at her.

“Sometimes it's good to just watch and listen. I was quite entertained.” Mattie leaned her head in towards Urquhart's hand as he stroked her hair.

“I feel I should offer something more entertaining than Man Writes at Desk.” Urquhart replied softly as he offered his other hand.

Mattie took the hand and rose. “I'm sure you could write me a very fine letter.”

“I hope my penmanship pleases you, Mattie.” Urquhart gently curled a lock of hair around his finger and then smoothed it back into place.

Mattie crossed to the door and looked upstairs. “A fountain pen beats a Biro any day.”

###

“Pen. Pen. Pen.” Mattie shook the almost empty pen as she strode along the news desks. A coffee tin filled with pens appeared before her and she grinned as she stopped and chose one. “Thanks, Rohit.”

“Boy scouts are always prepared.” Rohit held up three fingers, then slid some photos out of an envelope. 

As she finished jotting down her note, Mattie glanced at a photo. “What's our intrepid boy scout crime reporter working on today?”

“That BNP bookshop. Haven't found any direct links to the recent attacks, but they're stirring things up. Some protesters took some candid shots outside of one of their Secret Squirrel meetings.” Rohit turned over a photo. “This one's a local building society manager with a library clerk. A few unknowns in the batch, though.”

Mattie had been staring intently at one photo and picked it up. She spoke quietly. “I think that's Harry Mason. A bit far from his constituency, I'd say.”

“He's a pollie?” Rohit stood up and leaned closer. “Are you sure?”

“I'm blanking on the details, but he represents one of the home counties. Backbencher. Not a lot going for him career-wise. Very beige.” Mattie searched her mind, nodding at the photo. “I can chase him up, see if I can find anything.”

Rohit tilted his head and chuckled. “He's not going to come out and list his hobbies as golf, masturbation, and neo-Nazis, but if anyone can suss him out, you could.”

Mattie's body shook with laughter as she replied, “I think your first two examples are the same thing, but thank you. I'll do my best.”

###

Snippets of low voices, murmured conversations, and strategic deals echoed around the stairwell into a white noise of obscurity. Mattie watched from her perch above the lobby, noting the ebb and flow of elected officials. Urquhart and Stamper swept by from somewhere below her without stopping. One of two M.P.'s would approach and dart away, their entreaties swiftly dismissed or accepted.

Mattie watched Urquhart's tall, slender figure as he walked away. He hadn't seen her, but there was time for that later, her quarry had now hove into view.

Mason stopped near a pillar and looked around as he heard his name called. He stared at Mattie in surprise. “May I help you?”

Extending her hand, Mattie swiftly crossed the few feet between them and introduced herself, noting the fascination and wariness from Mason. She put on her friendliest smile and asked, “I'm researching a piece on young, up and coming politicians and wondered if I could have an interview.”

Mason gibbered slightly, then covered up with a wave of his hand. “Oh, goodness. I should warn you I'm not exactly _young_. I am,” he coughed slightly and continued, “in my forties.”

“Very early forties, I'm sure, Mr. Mason.” Mattie decided that, given the way he was admiring her hair, she'd had him at hello. She became brisk and businesslike. “Now. I'd like our readers to get to know you a little more. Can we arrange a time and place for a good chat?”

“How about now, in the lounge?” Mason tried to appear vague and not overly invested in spending time with a member of the media, but he was painfully transparent. Mattie smiled and held a palm out to lead the way.

Pausing at a doorway, Stamper cast a quizzical eye over the shoulder of the man who'd stopped him. He gave a dismissive nod of approval to shoo the man away and watched as Mattie and Mason walked away together. Definitely something to chase up on.

###

“Then it all kicked off.” Rohit sat and sipped his tea. “One of Her Majesty's Finest Riot Policemen decided that my press credentials were sufficiently threatening to warrant a tap on the bonce.” He typed a quick paragraph. “Then there was the bloke in the wheelchair who was coming home with his weekly shopping and got kettled in with the protesters. Maybe it was his choice of tea bags that earned him a walloping? Hospital says he won't have any lasting damage. At least not physically.” He shook his head and stared into the distance.

Mattie pondered what it had been like as she sifted through the photos. “Amazing compositions, Katie was right in the thick of it, too. You can see _them_.” She tapped a face in the background. “Enjoying it all. You have to wonder at the mindset that thinks like that.”

###

“Ladies and gentlemen, we must be ever vigilant against the forces of darkness, and that is why we are here, tonight. To hold a candle against the winds of evil.” Mason thumped a fist into his palm as he spoke.

“Oh dear,” Urquhart murmured to Mattie.

Mattie bit her tongue to keep her reaction neutral, a giggle-fit in such solemn and noble surroundings wouldn't be appropriate. She inhaled deeply and glanced around the room. An elderly woman on the panel was watching Mason intently. Mattie checked the conference timetable and identified her as Irene Ziegler, a veteran anti-racism campaigner. She had the look of someone who didn't suffer fools gladly and this quality was barely disguised as she listened to Mason's bland platitudes and tortured metaphors.

Urquhart jotted a note and passed it over to Mattie. She glanced down and stifled a cough as she read it, “The man really is a Manila envelope.”

Ziegler was tiny and frail, but she strode to the podium like a rugby player. She gave a challenging stare around the room and began to speak.“There are those who forget history, there are others who wish to rewrite it. They deny the truth, waffle over numbers, as though it absolves the crime. When we let that happen, we dishonour the truth, we shame the dead. When we see that happening again and again to different groups and do not speak, we betray our common humanity. Whatever new names they call their little organisations, it doesn't matter. Whatever hatred and thuggery they inspire, it's from the same dark, small-minded place that a hundred other gangs gained their so-called purity ideals, their hatred and disdain for their fellow humans. It's toxic and it must be fought against.”

Mattie looked down as another note as passed to her, “She should be a Chief Whip.”

“A few weeks ago, I visited a prison. I spoke with one young Neo-Nazi who said he _just liked the uniforms, no harm in that, is there?_ Well, that's how they sometimes get pulled in, by an uncritical love of one facet of a movement, then they find other things that appeal to their darker thoughts and feelings. By themselves, a uniform fetish or a passion for the technicalities of tanks and battles are harmless. It's when they can't see the bigger picture until they're deep in it, that's when a kebab shop gets torched, when a black or Asian kid gets knifed. That's why I speak out, why I bang on about things that happened fifty or more years ago, because it's so easy for a few streams to join up and become a ranging torrent. Divert the streams, it's easier than stopping a flood.”

Mattie found herself watching Mason's expression as he listened. He visibly twitched at the mention of uniforms and she wondered if he like a bit of a goose-step around his bedroom of an evening.

Urquhart watched Mattie intently, following her gaze over to Mason. His face was inscrutable as ever.

###

There were everyday foibles and indiscretions that Stamper could deal with on his own, and there were potential catastrophes that needed the intervention of the Chief Whip. Today was such a day as Mason walked into Urquhart's office. Ice clenched inside his bowels as he entered the room to the funereal faces of the Whip and his deputy.

An eternity slid by as the photos were pushed across the desk. Mason found himself stammering. “W-W-We all have our peccadilloes, after all-”

A second set was pushed towards him.

Urquhart's voice was grim and stern as he spoke. “Knickers and suspender belt fetishes are not the issue here, but by God, do try to do it somewhere that the _wrong_ kind of people could not get hold of photographs like these.” He tapped the other set of pictures. “It's the other matter of the bookshop in Upper Wickham Lane. The British people do not hold truck with that sort of thing. We will not have you tainting the Party with this.”

Mason stared at a knot in the polished oak desk, barely daring to breathe as Urquhart spoke. Yes, he would do all as he was asked. He had no choice. No choice at all. The letter was pushed across the table, along with a pen.

###

Mason shut off the television as the by-election was announced and sat in the darkness. He needed release. He wanted the feeling, the rhapsody of ecstasy. Pushing himself up from his chair, he took a tangerine from the fruit bowl, then took the stairs two at a time and unlocked the bedroom wardrobe.

Belt, chains, and amyl nitrate laid out on the dresser, he slipped into something more comfortable and prepared himself for bliss.

###

“Stressful day?” Mattie had noticed the grip Urquhart had on the arm of his chair.

A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes accompanied his reply. “A reading of the riot act. It's settled now.” 

“I heard Forbes is quitting his ministry. Anything to do with that?” Mattie hadn't quite turned off journalism mode for the evening.

“Ah, no. Nothing like that. A family illness. That isn't a euphemism, there'll be a full statement on that tomorrow.” Urquhart's voice made it clear that he was to hear no more fishing.

Mattie nodded her assent and asked, “Would you ever consider just ending it. Setting up a tea-rooms, or something? Serve Devonshire teas in a floral apron?”

Urquhart raised a single eyebrow, “ _Just_ the apron?” At Mattie's choking laugh, he smiled again, and this time his eyes gleamed. “Now. Let us forget the day's doom and gloom.”

Mattie leaned over and kissed him. “Forgotten. Done and dusted.”

###

The breakfast radio announcer spoke with a soft Edinburgh lilt as she read the morning news. Busy with organising her notepad and spare batteries, Mattie had barely listened until the name leapt out at her, then realised that the words, _The body of a Hertfordshire Member of Parliament was discovered at his London residence this morning.._ had preceded it. No further details were given.

A stack of early editions hit the pavement next to a news-stand outside a tube station as Mattie approached. As the vendor sliced the string, a few copies of the tabloid spilled out blaring the headline, NAUGHTY NAZI M.P. NARKS IT with a lurid photo mock-up of Mason in a negligee and a Hitler moustache.

###

"A music-hall distraction will always trump a darker event. Fuck a pig's head as part of a posh knob initiation ceremony and the people with laugh and jeer. It covers the other matter of burning a fifty squid note in front of a homeless person. Bread and circuses, colour and sound make a great camouflage, don't you think? Well, _you_ might very well think that, but I couldn't possibly comment." Urquhart spoke to nobody in particular and smiled into a mirror. 


End file.
